The Calculation
by the bauble
Summary: When Morgana leaves, it is neither the desire for cruel abandonment nor the king's wrath that sends her from the castle. Arthur/Morgana, Merlin/Gwen


**Warnings:** character death, and potential mistakes in characterization; first Merlin fic.

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The Calculation

(or- Five Times Gossips Created Lies in Legends, and One Time A Story Remained Untold)

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**1.** Merlin's secret is not first revealed to the slowly stewing ward, and the prince is not privy either.

It is his fellow servant, small and soft in her every move, who turns every corner he does, behind him, as he makes his way to the deepest dungeon. She tells him this, later, after her shriek and the accompanying dissonant surprise has long worn away into confusion and explanation. He calmly tells of the green, scaly, awfully inhumane monster of a dragon, who speaks into his mind, and he cannot help but answer and... her eyes peer into his very being, and Merlin cannot bear that she who helps him so often and without fuss has now come upon his deepest secret and will turn away from the dangerous human essence at which she stares. She deserves better, so he divulges this one lifeline, so easily severed. And when she remains in front of him, on her knees as he is in that courtyard near the servants tower, he kisses her.

**2.** When Morgana leaves, it is neither the desire for cruel abandonment nor the king's wrath that sends her from the castle.

Rather, it is a warmth in her belly and a warning in her heart that comes with knowledge of Camelot's complete lack of preparation for another Pendragon. It is a bitter and painfully slow parting, as Morgana is aware he senses their time is limited- he shows it in his touch, his eyes, his breath. The weeks pass quickly but at a crawl, until it becomes too unsafe, and it is time. Their last kiss consists of one pair of lips on the other's cheek, the darkness of night and mind surrounding her as she leaves his quarters, sealing the door with magic she _knows _will cause talk. Her only comfort is the heart that beats with hers in an unstoppable, unbeatable double time, that hums in her sleep of a possible return, and whispers the word _someday. _

**3.** Arthur is not in love with a princess.

He loves a queen, who encompasses everything it includes except the title itself. This queen, his queen, however, is gone, and he is left with a harassing father and an age that proclaims imminent marriage. Suddenly there are princesses lined up, nearly all of them coupled with fuming ladies who wish to sabotage them; the only constants in his life are a faithful and unhelpful manservant- his best friend- and his queen's truest companion, who loses the additional title of longest only to himself. His father looks to him consistently, first to do the physical activities he cannot and now to provide the kingdom with a future in the form of a life. It is irritating, frustrating, and Arthur knows he will never love the false queen his father will put on the throne. Because he will not, cannot, choose. And the king knows this, relishes this...

At that thought, Arthur has a plan.

**4.** Gwen, for what she feels must be the first time in her life, says no.

For once there is no apology in her voice, no stuttering when she simply holds up her fourth finger and says, "I'm already spoken for." She leaves him with no other words; the ones she possesses are for her intended, who may become so very unintended if he has no proper explanation for the prince's unfortunate lack of knowledge. She finds him in his room, sharpening a sword and reading simultaneously. He looks up as soon as she enters, and at the dark look in Gwen's eyes simply says "I thought you might want a different choice."

And her words are gone, suddenly, out of mind and heart and _everything, _because he is so utterly stupid to think such a thing, that she might want someone who is not him. Gwen cries, because the prince loves someone who is gone, and she loves someone who doubts that she does. And yet she continues to serve in her same quiet, gentle way; the maids in the kitchen say she faces the love of two men with the dignity of a queen. They do not see the secret sorcerer's apology, the couple's embrace, or the smile on the prince's face as he watches from afar.

**5.** Uther dies by the hand that is said to have murdered his son.

The disgraceful manservant is ruining his name as a human being by glowing gold, before creating a most extreme havoc on the battlefield. He cannot see what for the young man in front of him, his son he hates to love, obscures his vision in his most heroic attempt to do his duty and save the king.

Until there are no foes, and only four stand: the manservant, the prince, he the king, and a mere boy.

There are threads of gold, connecting them, most between his son and the manservant, but also a luminescent triangle between the prince, the manservant, and the boy. _Magic. _He feels loathing course through his body, until a prick of shock numbs his system; a single gold thread connects him and his son. The manservant- the sorcerer- and the boy face each other, and a war of dark and light and foreign words commences. The king curls over and retches, remembering a night of blood and promises and the cries of a newborn as it replays behind his lids. Uther has never practiced magic, but now he can see what is about to happen before it takes place- the boy motions at his son, and the sorcerer moves him out of the way with his body. The spindly green light seeps into him, instead, and as he feels his eyes close, he realizes he always knew best when it came to magic.

Uther dies knowing he was right.

**6.** Eventually, what was once whispered comes to pass.

It is a breezy day during the months of spring; Gwen wears a dress of the palest lavender and Merlin is shining in the blue of midnight. Gaius walks with the maidservant as she approaches the court sorcerer, and Arthur stands between the smiling couple, only the slightest of envy nipping at his happiness for his dearest friends. Words of the truest, deepest sort are exchanged; Merlin and Gwen walk together, dance together. He bends at his waist to reach her ear; a dark flush comes across her face and she swats him; Gwen is kind but there is power, there, the sort that keeps secrets- his numerous past whispers as well as the plenty to come- and love: she pulls his mouth to hers and revels in how well they fit in a mismatched pattern. They remain in such a way for a long time; it is at a small prod on the thigh that they move apart. A boy no older than five looks up at them. "My mom- my mother, sorry, she just wanted me to tell you congrat-_u_-lations." He scurries away, past the entryway of the courtyard and into the gardens. Gwen is startled, but it is Merlin who turns to Arthur, who appears equally bewildered, and gives him a look that has one meaning.

_Go._

Arthur does not doubt Merlin, who senses every little thing from fireflies to the darkest of magic, and rushes to follow the boy with black hair and blue eyes. There, in the garden of wispy trees and overgrown flowers, he sees the boy run and wrap his arms around a long pair of legs, covered by the skirt of a green dress. "I didn't look at him," he hears they boy whisper, and Arthur tells himself, from behind a bush, that it is ridiculous for a king of his noble stature to be afraid to look this woman in the face. Arthur forces his eyes up in a jerk of a motion.

"Morgana!" He stumbles from behind the greenery, his years of training in stealth and balance deserting him in that one moment of utter shock.

"Arthur- I-" Her voice is breaking, and she moves in front of her _son._ "I apologize; I did not mean to meet with you." He wants to ask why not, but the need for one action overrides all others. Arthur hurries till he is in front of her, and he looks down at her eyes. Then, he brings them together, to connect in the way with which they are _very_ familiar.

It is a battle, and Arthur thinks as he kisses her that he should be winning because he has gotten stronger, but she has gained strength, too, so they are equal as they once were.

Until she yields, falling into him, crying as he remembers vividly from one single occasion. He has won. They stand like that, her head in his chest, until she stops and his tunic is fairly damp.

When she pulls away he jokes "you ruined my wedding finery." She ignores him, reminiscent of the way she did long ago. It almost makes him smile.

"He knew we would come back, so I suppose I always knew, too." Morgana's smirk lays as it always did, between foreign glittering tracks.

"He?"

Morgana turns, and reaches for the hand of the boy. He comes forward with a face of wonder, and Arthur recognizes the cheekbones as those from his own mirror.

He finally understands.

Arthur kneels, resting his weight on his knees as he looks at this boy who he feels he knows, somehow. Then there are thin arms around his shoulders, and he gasps a laugh. Morgana, of course, is still joined to the little boy, and comes tumbling down in a way Arthur suspects she could have prevented if she so desired. It does not matter, though, because they are now finally physically together in the way their souls have been connected since the beginning of time.

As they fall back and lay in the tall grass, Arthur keeps the silence and does not inquire of Morgana being his queen; she cannot become something she has always been. They can hear the wedding in the distance, but pay it no heed. All they think of are little things, happy things. Later, there will be more serious talk, spread between the reunions filled with breathless laughter, sad stories and many tears. But for now they are content to be two parents in a single family, sharing the bitter losses and joyous triumphs between them.

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_Note: I totally wrote these out of order, so lack of flow is caused by that- tried to remedy it, but one never really knows. As it is for most authors, concrit is appreciated and comments loved. _

_Oh, and first fic posted in over a year. It feels so strange!_


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